Dopey
by UnsuaveOffTheMattress
Summary: One word prompt: dopey. Wincest, language, drugs.


So, instead of reviewing for my final exams I found a one word prompt website and gave number 32 a go. Hope you all like it, it's got synthetic pot :)

32. Dopey

"You're adorable," he said, reaching over towards you. He stretched as far as he could, absent-mindedly trying to take your hands though you've pulled them back. "You're so cute," he continued. "Play with me."  
His eyes were big, as big and as bright as that artificial and over enthusiastic smile. He had a sweetness to him, an innocence, a breezy and careless feeling you never thought you'd see. You were enthralled, though slightly confused—intrigued, yet puzzled. "What's wrong with you?" You asked, and Dean laughed as he fidgeted atop the sheets. Then he called you silly, and sloppily took your hands. "No," you said. "I'm serious."  
"Bout what?" He laughed, looking you up and down a few times. "Lighten up, Sammy."  
"What's wrong with you?" You repeated.  
"Don't worry about it." He returned, shaking a little as he moved his hands to your jawline. "It'll wear off, but..." He paused, staring blankly at you. He had a distance about him, like his consciousness had abruptly receded. It was startling, but expected. He was completely out of his mind. You moved your hands to take one of his, but he swatted you away before you could touch him. "I want this."  
"What?"  
"This," he said. "You, me, bed."  
Terror shot through you, this hot, immoral feeling enveloping what little sense you still had. As much as you hated to admit it, you wanted him, and you wanted him bad.  
He smiled slyly and pulled you in. "C'mere,"  
His lips felt like satin against yours, their baby pink hue lying about how vibrantly they tasted. He tasted like earthy smoke, thick and heavy despite how light and sweet his lips looked. He let go when he was sure he had you, and though you couldn't see them, you knew where his hands went, and took hold of them just before they slipped below the waistband of his sweatpants. "Don't be like that." You told him, then fully under his umbrella of lust and tease. "You don't need that."  
He pulled back and collapsed against the mattress, breathing heavy in attempt to keep himself under control while you climbed atop him. His smile was gone, it, along with those big and bright eyes, a dull and desperate hue. "I hate you." He said as you held his hands against his sternum. Your right hand held them tight, and your left fingertips gently graced his waistline.  
"You started it." You said, smiling about how his legs shook. It came about him as a wave, and as the rest of him began to quiver desperately, that wave washed away the rest of his euphoria, of his high. "You wanted it."  
"Fucking tease."  
"I know."  
He bent his knees, trying as hard as he could to slither out from under you.  
"No," you took a better hold of his hands and moved your fingers down a little, barely making contact with that extremely sensitive skin. "Don't leave."  
Dean gasped. "Sammy!"  
You smiled.  
"I need to go."  
"No you don't."  
"Yeah," he breathed heavy, hips twisting urgently. "Yeah, I really do."  
"Why?"  
He whimpered a little, "because," and pushed at your hands. "Reasons."  
"Like?"  
"I can't tell you."  
"Yes you can."  
He shook his head, making his eyes as big and as desperate as he could.  
"C'mon," you pushed, pressing a little harder. "Tell me."  
He choked a little, so arroused that it was literally making him sick. Well, that and some odd synthetic plant he smoked while you were gone.  
"Sam," he begged. "Stop."  
"No, Dean,"  
"Sam-"  
"Finish and then you can go."  
"I can't."  
"Why?" You tauntingly asked. "You embarrassed?"  
He pushed back on you as hard as he could, breathing hard. "No,"  
"Then why?"  
He shook his head, and though he turned away, you could see how pale and sticky his skin was.  
"Why?" You repeated.  
"Cause-"  
"Fine," you pulled back, and within a second he was on the floor of the washroom, physically sick, coughing up acid and testosterone and synthetic pot.  
Puzzled, you kept your eyes on him, watching as he crumpled to the floor a shaking mess. "What'd I do?" You asked.  
"Nothing," he returned. "Just don't do drugs."  
You took him in your grasp as you found your way over to him, putting him on his feet. The attraction below his wast was gone. The high was gone. The sweetness was gone. All of it was gone, and though he shook and looked like death from a bad feel-good reaction, he smiled a little. "Fucking tease."

Xx

Don't do drugs, kids.


End file.
